


Storytime

by endlessnepenthe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Domestic Fluff, Ficlet Collection, M/M, There will be the occasional E rated chapter (proceed with caution), Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:00:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 47
Words: 16,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnepenthe/pseuds/endlessnepenthe
Summary: my first time writing something a lil more naughty... hm
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	1. first time [E]

Castiel thrusts up into Dean in a slow, deep grind.

He holds Dean in his arms — Dean’s back to Castiel’s chest — and presses a soft kiss to the base of Dean’s neck.

“Cas,” Dean whimpers, breathless.

“Dean,” Castiel says, and his voice isn’t quite as steady as he’d intended it to be. He spreads a hand around Dean’s side, forearm resting just above the soft sharpness of Dean’s hips, holding him right where Castiel wants him to be.

Unable to do more than accept what Castiel gave him, Dean buries his face in the crook of Castiel’s other elbow. With every thrust, his breathing hitches on tiny not-quite-sobs, mouth open as he pants wetly against the swell of Castiel’s bicep.

Nipping at Dean’s neck where it connects to his shoulder, Castiel adds a touch more force the next time he snaps his hips forward. He’s rewarded by Dean shuddering in his arms.

“Cas, _Cas—”_

Castiel doesn’t give Dean what he wants. Dean can beg all he wants and Castiel won’t give him a thing, because he likes Dean like this, loves when Dean forgets everything but _Cas._ Because that’s all Dean needs, all Dean deserves; to be loved until he’s bursting at the seams, until it’s all he knows.

Castiel slides a hand up Dean’s neck, digging fingers into the bolt of his jaw until Dean’s head falls back. Thick lashes flutter over glazed eyes, jewel bright green ringing dark, blown pupils. Castiel tilts his hips higher, leaning forward to swallow the thin whine from Dean’s mouth like ambrosia of the gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my first time writing something a lil more naughty... hm


	2. camping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [10.08.20]

"Dean."

Dean hums, glancing up from the blazing fire.

"These are wonderful," Castiel mumbles around a mouthful of melted chocolate, marshmallow, and cracker. When he swallows, Dean's mind fills with static like one of the useless ancient televisions from cheap motel rooms, struggling to find a signal.

Dean could only watch with his mouth open as Castiel's tongue pokes out to chase after a little bit of chocolate that had escaped from between his lips, lapping carefully at the corner of his mouth until the chocolate is all gone and his lips are slick in the light of their moderate campfire. Distantly, a part of Dean's mind wonders how Castiel would react if he leaned over and pressed their mouths together like puzzle pieces; would he surprised, breath hitching with the tiniest gasp that would leave his lips parting under Dean's, or would he simply push closer, soft pink tongue darting out to swipe curiously over Dean's mouth—

"I like smores," Jack declares, cheeks bulging. The flames are reflected in his wide, delighted eyes, casting sharp shadows across his face.

Sam chuckles, pressing crackers to the little pile of marshmallow and chocolate balanced between his fingers. "Be careful, you'll choke."

Jack turns his happy grin on Sam, who only smiles and passes over the completed smore. He had been banned from getting anywhere near the fire after burning a marshmallow to a crisp — it had caught fire, too — and then using his bare hands to catch the poor charred thing as it slipped off the metal skewer and tumbled to a fiery death.

When Dean looks back at Cas, his serene smile from seeing his family gathered around a fire eating smores like they had all the time in the world is wiped clean off his face faster than he could muster up a single thought. Castiel’s licking at some marshmallow sticking to his thumb, tentative and curious as a baby kitten and the logical part of Dean’s brain wants nothing more than to throw a napkin at his face.

What Dean actually ends up doing is definitely not that. To Sam’s chagrin and Jack’s glee, Dean finds out Castiel’s reaction would be to hum a pleased purr and lick into Dean’s mouth like he’d only been waiting for permission.


	3. suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [11.08.20]

"Like what you see?" Castiel tugs idly at the lapel of his fitted suit, smirking when Dean only nods, his jaw slack and eyes wide. Encouraged by the reaction, Castiel slowly turns around, tilting his hips _just_ enough to accentuate the way the suit framed his ass.

By the time he's completing the little twirl, Dean's all up in his space, fingers curling around the knot of his tie.

"Take it off," Dean says, tugging Castiel's tie slightly looser around his neck before using it to pull him forward.

"What—”

Dean smashes their lips together, swallowing Castiel's sharp gasp like he'd been starved for days on end. He pushes the jacket off Castiel's shoulders, sliding a thigh up between Castiel's legs in a dirty grind.

_“Dean—”_

Castiel loses his shirt to the hardwood floor in record time, breathing soft little whimpers as Dean sucks a blooming mark onto the side of his neck. Despite the way all his blood has rushed south fast enough to leave his head spinning, Castiel grins, sloppy and careless, murmuring a breathless, “It is acceptable, I take it?”

“Oh, there’ll definitely be _taking,”_ Dean growls, dragging his blunt nails down between the wings of Castiel’s shoulder blades.

Arching his back, Castiel shivers. “Good,” he purrs, leaning forward to press a wet kiss to the underside of Dean’s jaw.


	4. wings [E, Gabriel/Dean]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bondage, hint of pain kink  
> [11.08.20]

"You still alive up there, kiddo?"

Dean growls, arms tensing where they're handcuffed to the headboard. "Don't call me that."

Gabriel only grins. His wings flutter gently, sending yet another wave of sweet cotton candy scent filtering through the air. "Hm, you're lucky I like that mouth of yours," he purrs.

"Shut up and fuck me like you mean it," Dean snaps, bucking his hips up to force Gabriel deeper.

Golden wings spreading behind his back until it's all Dean could see, Gabriel places a hand on Dean's hip, forcing it down to the bed. A quiet whimper tears itself from Dean's throat. "Oh, I do mean it," Gabriel says, at once a promise and a threat.

He pulls back, agonizingly slow, and snaps his hips forward, hard enough to punch a startled moan from deep within Dean’s chest. Gabriel smirks, pleased, and repeats the action, watching as Dean throws his head back against the pillows, his jaw slack as he whines a high sound. Dean’s better like this, Gabriel muses, his sharp tongue softened by the almost involuntary sounds of his pleasure, perpetual scowl blunted by the force of his inevitable orgasm.

Gabriel leans down to sink his teeth into Dean’s shoulder, biting down harder than he would with anyone else. He knows Dean sometimes needs the pain to push him over the edge, needs to wear the marks of Gabriel’s teeth on his skin to remind himself of the time they share in the bedroom. Sure enough, all of Dean’s muscles lock up and he tightens almost painfully around Gabriel; Gabriel can’t resist nipping at the plush swell of Dean’s bottom lip as he continues fucking into Dean until Dean’s shuddering and whimpering and tugging uselessly at the handcuffs around his wrists, thick lashes clumping together with unbidden tears.


	5. candle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temperature play, bondage  
> [12.08.20]

Dean runs his oiled hands down the sides of Castiel's back, his thumbs tracing parallel paths along the curve of Castiel's spine. Sighing softly, Castiel arches up into Dean's touch, tugging absently at the blue tie anchoring his wrists to the headboard.

"Hey," Dean murmurs, dragging his hands back up to gently squeeze Castiel's shoulders. "Don't do that, you'll hurt yourself."

Castiel whines into the pillow, thighs tensing under Dean's weight, but he obediently relaxes after a moment.

Dean smiles. Castiel can't see it, but the warmth of Dean's pleasure seeps into his voice when he purrs, "Good. You ready?"

Castiel swallows, the click of his throat audible in their shared silence, and nods. Dean strokes an idle hand up and down Castiel's back, soothing, as he leans over to curl his fingers around a candle filling the room with the soft, sweet scent of honey and vanilla.

The first droplet lands just underneath the arch of Castiel’s shoulder blade, sliding to pool in between the bars of his ribcage. He gasps, a tiny hitch in his breathing, but Dean immediately stills.

“Too hot?”

“No—” Castiel whimpers. _“Please—”_

Dean chuckles. “Okay, gotcha.” Still, he moves the candle down and away from Castiel’s ribs, allowing the next drop of wax to fall on the thick cord of muscle next to Castiel’s spine.

This time, Castiel turns his head to press his cheek to the pillow, moaning a breathless, “Don’t stop.”

“Yessir,” Dean laughs, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of Castiel’s neck.


	6. drunk wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wing fic, drunk Dean  
> [12.08.20]

_ Cas? _

Castiel shakes out his wings, stretching them out in preparation for flight. There's something  _ off  _ about Dean's prayer—

The instant Castiel lands in Dean's room, he's frozen stiff, eyes wide. Dean's on the floor next to his bed, several empty bottles of beer scattered all around him, but what has Castiel’s thoughts tripping straight into static are the  _ wings  _ sprawled over the surface of Dean's bed.

They’re  _ beautiful, _ feathers neat and glossy in the warm golden glow of Dean’s lamp, a soft sandy brown slightly darker than Castiel’s trench coat, little chocolate brown speckles dotting the expanse like constellations. Strong, solid, more than worthy of being an angel’s wings. They’re magnificent and glorious and they’re protruding from between Dean’s shoulder blades.

Castiel opens his mouth. Stalls for a beat. “Dean…?”

Dean lifts his head, eyes glazed by alcohol. He spots Castiel and grins, lazy and sloppy, wide in a way Castiel has never seen. “Cas,” he slurs, delighted, and even his wings —  _ Dean has wings _ — fluff up happily on the bed.

“What… happened?”

“Dunno,” Dean grumbles.  _ Is he pouting? _ Sighing, Dean juts out his bottom lip —  _ oh, he’s definitely pouting _ — and frowns. “Can’t sleep,” he huffs.

“Perhaps, the wings…” Castiel suggests, hesitant.

Dean blinks heavily. “Sammy’s workin—” He cuts himself off with a low growl, shaking his head.

Castiel moves closer. “You require sleep,” he says, words softening when Dean squints blearily up at him through his lashes. “Let me.”

Dean leans into the featherlight brush of Castiel’s first two fingers on his forehead, so much so that Castiel has to quickly bend down to catch Dean in his arms when he pushes Dean into a deep sleep with his grace.


	7. crass [E, Gabriel/Dean]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [12.08.20]

Dean growls, shoving back against Gabriel. "C'mon, that the best you can do?"

No, of course not. Did he forget who he was dealing with? Maybe it was time for another lesson about running his mouth.

Gabriel spreads a hand in the center of Dean's back, a gentle touch he feels Dean push up into —  _ just the slightest, _ because Dean does have a reputation to uphold — but softness isn’t the language Dean understands the most. So Gabriel allows a hint of his angelic strength to bleed into his vessel, using the single hand to force Dean down onto his elbows.

Dean chokes on a startled gasp, arching his back with the sudden change of position, and Gabriel smirks to himself, tracing lazy fingers along the dip of Dean’s spine.

“You,” Dean pants, “sonuva—  _ ah—  _ bitch—”

Gabriel doesn’t change his speed — he won’t be so easily goaded into doing what Dean wants him to — but he leans forward to grind himself deeper, sliding his free hand into short, sandy brown hair. Dean goes easily when Gabriel tugs his head back, twisting his upper body to relieve the strain on his neck.

“Don’t be crass,” Gabriel purrs, his eyes glowing liquid gold as he speaks. The light reflects in Dean’s glossy, slightly damp eyes, his pupils dilating impossibly further as Gabriel watches.

Dean’s eyelashes flutter as he swallows hard, his reply seemingly gone in the wind, whining a soft helpless sound when Gabriel rolls his hips forward again. Satisfied, Gabriel grants Dean a kiss, licking hungrily into his slack mouth to swallow his breathy, punched out whimpers.


	8. tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [13.08.20]

Dean shuffles deeper into the house, dragging his sock clad feet across the hardwood as he goes. The sun is setting outside, flaming red and glowing oranges bleeding across the sky, painting the room with wide streaks of fading warmth.

Weary down to the depths of his soul, he shrugs his familiar canvas jacket off his shoulders, tossing it onto their sofa with sheer force of habit. The quiet inhale of someone startled awake drags his attention to the shorter length of their L shaped sofa.

Castiel blinks sleepily up at Dean. There’s a soft streak of what must be soot high on his cheekbone and he appears to be every bit as exhausted as Dean feels, but Castiel — wonderful, beautiful Castiel — smiles despite the rude awakening, slipping one leg off the sofa and opening his arms.

Tears threaten to fill his eyes, climbing up his throat, as Dean lets himself fall into Castiel’s waiting arms. Castiel doesn’t say a word about the desperation Dean clutches at him with, only wraps his sleep warm arms around Dean and spreads his elegant fingers across Dean’s back, breathing calm and steady and deep.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut against the dampness clumping his lashes together, burying his face in the chest beneath him. Tucking his knees closer around Dean’s hips, Castiel gently nuzzles his hair, lips brushing Dean’s temple in a featherlight kiss. Within moments, Castiel’s asleep again, his slack arms solid but welcome weights across Dean’s back.

They will surely wake up with pins and needles in various limbs, backs stiff from the  _ definitely not memory foam _ sofa and bellies empty from not having eaten dinner, but for now, they will sleep, safe and content in each other’s arms.

Besides, they can always order takeout.


	9. honeybee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby Jack, a little hint of angst, domestic fluff  
> [13.08.20]

"Jack! I told you not to touch anything!"

Castiel startles awake at his husband's agitated — and a tad raised, definitely worried — voice. It's instantly followed by Jack's distressed wail, the sound snowballing rapidly into full blown crying.

Rushing to the garage, Castiel spots Jack sitting on the floor next to a handful of wrenches Dean usually uses to run maintenance on Baby, his prized '67 Chevy Impala. Jack's pudgy little face is wet with his tears, mouth hanging open as he sobs, tiny hands balled into small fists in his lap. Dean looks close to tears himself, his regret clear in the downward slant of his mouth, the anxious pinch of his brow.

But Dean doesn’t make any moves to pick up their wailing child, so Castiel scoops Jack up into his arms instead, gently rocking him back and forth. Jack calms easily, loud cries subsiding to hiccups and sniffles, but the tears don’t stop flowing. He likely wants Dean to comfort him; Castiel gives Dean a pointed glance, but Dean shakes his head.

There’s fear lingering behind the guilt in Dean’s eyes.  _ I don’t wanna be like my old man, _ he’d said, a whispered confession in the darkness of their bedroom one night, what seems like forever ago.  _ You won’t be, _ Castiel had replied, a fact as obvious to him as the sky is blue. He will never doubt Dean.

Dean stumbles back when Castiel moves forward, intent on passing Jack to him. “I’m— I need a shower,” he blurts, one last desperate attempt.

“You can take a bath with Jack,” Castiel says, holding Jack out. To make matters worse, the kid reaches for Dean, eyes wide and pleading.

Dean hesitates for another heartbeat, but he finally cradles Jack to his chest. “You scared me,” he finally whispers to Jack. “I need you to stay safe— Okay, honeybee?”

Jack sniffles, curling his fingers into Dean’s shirt. He giggles when Dean bumps their noses together.

“Time for a bath,” Dean coos, and Jack squeals happily.


	10. clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby Jack!  
> [14.08.20]

Dean blinks blearily up at the strange, shifting green canopy above him. A gentle breeze tickles the fine hairs on his bare arms, drags teasing fingers up the side of his neck to run them through his hair. His brain catches up moments later, finally recognizing the leafy tree branches above his head, broad emerald leaves shielding him from the late afternoon summer sunshine. He lies still for a moment, breathing steadily as he watches a vaguely bunny shaped cloud float by in the sky.

A child’s delighted squeal fills the air. Dean props himself up on an elbow to watch his husband stumbling around in the field of picturesque grass, back hunched as he pretends to chase down their toddling kid. Jack giggles, loud and unrestrained, little body wobbling from side to side as he waddles away from Castiel with no urgency whatsoever. Every so often, at random intervals, Castiel will point up at the blue sky, distracting Jack with the clouds to give himself a chance to catch up, until Jack inevitably realizes Castiel’s far too close and totters off again.

Cupping one hand to the side of his mouth like a makeshift megaphone, Dean grins and calls, “Having fun?”

Castiel’s head instantly swivels in Dean’s direction — like an honest to God  _ bird _ — while Jack changes course to toddle the entire way back to Dean, pudgy arms held out and giggling the entire way. Dean sits up and hoists Jack into his lap, leaning down to bump their foreheads together.

“Did you have fun, my lil bumblebee?”

“Fun,” Jack echoes. Castiel drags himself into the shade of the tree, collapsing onto his back just as Jack pokes a tiny finger to Dean’s nose. “Papa,” he declares, beaming.

Dean smiles, chuckling when Jack smacks his entire hand to Dean’s jaw, curiously exploring the stubble there.


	11. lace [E]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [15.08.20]

"Yes, you need to—” Each and every thought exits Castiel’s mind at the speed of light, leaving him with his mouth hanging open and not a single word on the tip of his tongue.

Dean’s standing a few paces inside the room, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. As Castiel gapes, mute, Dean shifts his gaze to a spot above Castiel’s head, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip.

Distantly, Castiel catches one of the repeated _hello?_ s from the phone still pressed to his ear, and he fumbles a quick, “I’ll… call you later.” Hanging up, Castiel drops his phone, unable to tear his eyes off Dean even as he stumbles around the table to make a beeline for Dean.

Wordlessly, Castiel backs Dean up against the wall, watching hungrily as Dean’s mouth parts with a soft gasp when he has no more ground to give up. Those breathtaking green eyes still hold apprehension in their depths; Castiel needs to change that. Dragging his hands down the warm skin just below Dean’s ribs, Castiel leans forward to nip at Dean’s jaw.

“Beautiful,” Castiel growls as he settles his hands right on the delicate lace sitting low on Dean’s hips, “so _lovely,_ Dean.” He presses his fingers into Dean’s skin, loses himself in kissing the tiny freckles at the corners of Dean’s lips.

Dean clutches at Castiel’s shoulders, a cut off whine catching in his throat, desperate and wanting. Switching targets, Castiel seals their lips together in a deep, heated kiss, swallowing Dean’s low moan.

When Castiel reluctantly — right, humans need to breathe — pulls back, Dean’s mouth is swollen and slick, his pupils blown wide. He blinks slowly, dazed, and slips half an inch down the wall before Castiel catches him by the thighs, lifting enough to encourage Dean’s legs to wrap around his waist.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, completely unfazed by Dean’s weight. His hands still on Dean’s waist, he grinds forward, smiling faintly when Dean tips his head back with a helpless groan.


	12. take me to church [E]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demon Priest Cas! And sinning...  
> [22.08.20]

Dean whimpers, digging his nails into the glossy wooden pew in front of him. His jaw hangs slack and his gasps rise in tiny clouds in front of his face as he rides back on the clever fingers taking him apart. An elegant hand settles on his hip, a silent reprimand.

The priest is a warm weight at Dean's back, breath hot on the shell of his ear. "Are you here to confess your sins, Mister..."

"Dean," Dean chokes out, "call me Dean."

The priest doesn’t speak for several beats; Dean swallows hard in the silence, afraid he’d crossed a line. Then: a soft, amused huff, and the fingers curl almost tenderly, pressing gently, but every muscle in Dean’s body seizes as he bucks, helpless to the pleasure sinking its nails — dark, heavy, and dirty as sin — into him.

“Mm,” the priest hums, twisting his fingers just to hear Dean whine a broken sound, “alright. Then;  _ Dean,” _ — the name rolls easily off his tongue, dagger sharp and velvet soft — “what is the nature of your sins?”

Dean’s low moan is shattered glass, lethal and beautiful and bright as stars in the sunlight. “Fu—” He arches his back, pressing his forehead to the backs of his hands, knuckles bone white and the cords of his neck standing out in stark relief as he grits his teeth.  _ “Ah, _ Ca—” Dean moans again, a little louder, rocking back half an inch before he remembers he shouldn’t be moving.  _ “Father,” _ he whimpers, ducking his head even  _ lower, _ the fine sheen of sweat at his nape shining slick in the light.

_ “Yes,” _ the priest purrs,  _ “this is your sin.” _ He’s relentless, taking Dean higher and higher, stealing every breath from his lungs, building him up to tear him all the way down.  _ “Say my name.” _

“Father,” Dean gasps, chokes on a moan when the fingers push forward cruelly, “Cas—  _ Castiel!” _ Nails dig into his hip and he  _ whines, _ desperate. The edge is  _ right there, _ a razor thin line, and he needs to bleed. “Please...” He’s rewarded by the fingers curving and he sees stars, sees fireworks behind his eyelids—  _ “Yes, please, Castiel—” _

Dean tips over the cliff, breaking in a thousand glittering pieces, shuddering and shaking and gasping little pained sounds. Behind him, Castiel smiles as he yanks the wretched holy collar from around his neck, blue eyes glowing crimson.


	13. shot [MCD, ANGST]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [23.08.20]

Dean is not having a good day.

His morning coffee had been disgustingly watery, a bird had taken a massive crap on the hood of his Baby, his favourite place had been out of pie— Not to even mention the insistent,  _ irritating _ drizzling outside.

And, to make matters even worse; here he is, sprawled on the cold, hard cement floor, bleeding out. He clutches weakly at the bullet hole in his side — hands slipping in all the red,  _ so much blood _ — and whimpers softly as unbidden tears slip down his cheeks. Pain is an obsessively clingy friend, sharp as a blade’s edge under his skin, tearing every possible thought from his head until all he can see, hear, smell, taste, think,  _ breathe, _ is only:  _ Agony. _

Then someone falls to their knees right next to him, hard enough for Dean’s own kneecaps to twinge with a phantom, sympathetic pain, and Dean blinks blearily at the mess of dark hair hovering over his face.

“No, no,” the man whispers, anguished and desperate,  _ “no!” _

Dean musters enough strength to raise a shaking hand, raises one finger in a feeble imitation of pointing.  _ Are you the asshole who shot me _ sits on the tip of his tongue, but he only manages a shuddering rasp, his breath hitching as he strains to put more pressure on his side.

The man —  _ he’s got these eyes, _ some distant part of Dean’s rational mind gasps in awe,  _ eyes like he’d stolen the brightest cloudless summer skies to keep for himself _ — misinterprets Dean’s gesture, grabbing the hand and pressing it to his cheek.

“You can’t— You can’t die,” the man with the sky in his eyes pleads. “You can’t die, I just found you.”

_ And you fucking shot me, smartass. _ Dean watches his own blood smear a wobbly crimson handprint on the man’s face, blinking tiredly against the darkness creeping at the edges of his vision.

Well. It was a bad day. And a horrible way to go. But at least Dean doesn’t have to watch his own soulmate die in front of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (didn't have enough words to really flesh out the idea, but this is supposed to be soulmate AU where only your soulmate can hurt you)


	14. deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel Cas, Demon Dean  
> [24.08.20]

"What have you done with Dean Winchester?"

He smirks, arms relaxed where they're bound behind him in a pair of warded handcuffs. It  _ would  _ be rather satisfying if he could display his midnight black demon eyes, but he'll make do with what he has access to. "You're lookin at 'im."

"Not possible," the angel grits out, "the Righteous Man does not have such a... corrupt soul." He stalks forward, leans into Dean's space with eyes burning bright, electric blue.  _ "What have you done with him." _

Dean huffs a laugh devoid of amusement, surging forward as far as being cuffed to a chair would allow without yanking his shoulders out of their sockets, and smashes their lips together. The angel doesn't react, stiff and immovable as stone; even Dean sinking his teeth into the angel's bottom lip, purposefully drawing blood, isn't enough to prompt any sort of response.

Reclining back on his cheap throne — a self crowned king instead of an unwilling prisoner — Dean licks the angel's blood off his lips with a saccharine sweet grin.  _ "Fuck me, and you've got yourself a deal." _

The angel blinks those pretty jewel blue eyes, seemingly taken aback by Dean’s words.  _ Finally. _ Dean was almost afraid he’d lost his touch. Not really, he does have his pride. But it’d been niggling at him, an insignificant gnat of a thought.

“I’m an angel,” the angel finally says, voice a sinful growl Dean would  _ love _ to hear begging him for release.  _ Patience, Winchester. _ “I don’t have a soul to sell.”

“I’m a demon of my word,  _ Cas,” _ Dean purrs. “Your mission is to find out what happened to the  _ Righteous Man, _ yeah? I’ll tell you everything you want to know — cross my heart, hope to die —  _ after you give me what I want.” _


	15. protective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragon Dean, injured Cas  
> [24.08.20]

Everything hurts when Castiel opens his eyes to the sterile blank white of a hospital room. The entire space reeks of antiseptic and he can feel the telltale pull of  _ multiple  _ stitches in his side whenever he breathes. Despite the window being open, there's an entire wave of heat radiating next to him, stifling with its unrelenting warmth that's accompanied by a deep, rolling growl shaking Castiel down to his bones like an earthquake.

Wait…  _ Growl? _

Castiel glances over the edge of his hospital bed. There’s a  _ dragon _ curled up on the floor, all beautiful sandy brown scales with a subtle earthy green shimmer and twin parallel rows of moderately large, spine-like protrusions along its back, extending down to its tail. The dragon’s backside is sprawled lazily over the tiled floor — relaxed as anything — but it’s crouching on its front legs, large chest lowered and wings partially spread protectively. It has its wedge shaped head pointed forward, mouth open to reveal dagger sharp teeth, growling continuously as a cat would purr.

“Dean,” Castiel croaks, weak and breathy, but the dragon immediately falls silent, head swiveling away from the trembling doctor just barely standing upright in the open doorway.

In a greatly impressive act of contortion, Dean turns his entire body in the little space of the room, using his side to block the doorway as he moves his attention to Castiel. Emerald green eyes scan Castiel’s face worriedly, the dragon’s head venturing forward to hover over his lap; Dean huffs a careful, warm breath at Castiel, blinking slowly.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs, resting a hand somewhere around Dean’s jaw, “beloved, you have to let the doctor in.”

Dean rumbles a halfhearted protest. A moment later, the smooth scales beneath Castiel’s hand give way to the prickly stubble of a human jaw, leaving an agitated, slightly rumpled Dean kneeling at Castiel’s bedside.

Smiling gently in encouragement, Castiel nods to the frightened doctor still hovering in the doorway, his expression going apologetic when Dean insists on squeezing himself onto the narrow bed to wrap his arms around Castiel from behind and press his nose to Castiel’s nape.


	16. beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TFW at the beach because this is the only ending I want from Supernatural thank you for coming to my TED talk  
> [25.08.20]

True to Dean's expectations, Sam's the first one to let himself free, to set down the burdens he's been carrying like Atlas himself. With a wide, boyish grin — one Dean hasn't had the pleasure of seeing for so many years, he's actually forgotten how much it hits him like a punch in the gut — that sheds decades off his slouched shoulders, Sam carelessly kicks his boots off, clumsy in his haste to peel the socks off his feet.

Dean follows at a more modest pace, unable to hold back a smile even as he stoops to collect Sam’s boots like some moronic parody of a nanny picking up after a child. He’s got all the time he could ever want to use it as blackmail against Sam. For now, the world is safe, and as the unsung heroes, they definitely deserve a break. There might not be any fancy umbrella drinks or matching Hawaiian shirts or a single shred of recognition for how much they’ve had to give up in order to reach this spot on the gameboard —  _ haven’t passed Go, don’t collect $200 _ — even so, being able to tick off  _ toes in the sand _ is more than enough for Dean. He’s lost so many it’ll haunt him for every remaining breath he takes, but he’ll see them again in due time, tell them stories of a life he’d built for himself at their insistence, with their help and support, tell them  _ I’m back, where’s the pie in this place? _

But for now… For now he’ll enjoy the salty breeze, the glowing sunset. He’ll enjoy seeing his giant brother with his too long hair tossing his head back, laughing carelessly at the way their adopted nephilim kid stumbles backward in surprise when the waves lap at his bare toes. He’ll enjoy hearing the awed, childlike delight in Jack’s voice, the boundless contentment in Sam’s when he replies in kind. He’ll enjoy not having a gun tucked in his waistband, no salt or graveyard dirt under his fingernails, no stitches he has to be careful not to tear out.

“Dean.”

Dean looks up. His angel still stands with his spine held perfectly straight, dark hair still an absolute mess he’d love to sink his fingers in, eyes still the perfect shade of sunlight through ocean waves, trench coat still the same rumpled bland tan. Still, still,  _ still— _ Still the same, but  _ oh so different, _ elegant toes buried partially under the soft sand, worn dress shoes dangling from curled fingers, backward tie tugged loose around his neck and first three buttons unfastened to reveal several inches of his throat.

Castiel smiles. “Shall we,” he murmurs, just barely loud enough to be heard above the sound of waves lapping at the shore and Jack giggling as he beckons them over.

And maybe he doesn’t deserve a happy ending after everything he’s done. Or maybe he does, against all odds. But with sand slipping between his toes and an arm thrown over Castiel’s firm shoulders, Dean Winchester lets himself hope.


	17. monopoly deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [26.08.20]

Dean glances around the table: Castiel, at Dean’s side, seems to have the largest number of cards in his bank, one red  _ Kentucky Avenue _ property and one yellow  _ Ventnor Avenue _ in front of him; Sam, across from Dean, also has an impressive bank, one lone black  _ Short Line _ railroad property on his playing field; Jack, next to Sam, barely has a bank, but before him sits one completed set,  _ Electric Company _ and  _ Water Works _ in soft mint green.

Grinning, Dean slaps down his  _ Sly Deal (Steal a property from the player of your choice.) _ card, crooking his finger at Castiel’s red property. Castiel narrows his eyes a smidge, but hands it over without any comments. Absurdly pleased with the situation, Dean carefully arranges his stolen property neatly in front of him, then adds a red  _ Illinois Avenue _ and a multicoloured  _ Property Wild Card _ from his hand.

Sam scowls, frustrated, and Jack gasps quietly with wide eyes.  _ Take that, kid, _ Dean silently gloats,  _ you ain’t the one winnin this game. _

To Dean’s chagrin, he’s not the one who ends up winning. It’s Castiel, who had apparently been fighting the long fight, who swoops in with all the  _ Deal Breaker (Steal a complete set of properties from any player.) _ cards in the entire deck and manages to complete his own set along with Dean’s and Jack’s for the winning three.

Dean’s  _ not _ a sore loser, okay — Sam takes it really well, smiling and offering Castiel congratulations, Jack grinning bright as sunshine like he’d expected Castiel to win the entire time — but he’s still not  _ entirely _ convinced there wasn’t a little…  _ mojo _ involved in Castiel’s victory. C’mon, an entire deck of cards, and somehow one person managed to snag  _ both _ of the most useful ones? That’s gotta be some ridiculous luck.

Something sparkles in Castiel’s blue eyes —  _ ocean blue, cloudless summer skies blue, precious stone blue, so blue they’re the literal manifestation of the word itself _ — when he offers Dean a beer. Right, he once commanded armies; the strategy of a simple game must be nothing to him. Dean’s almost guilty for doubting Castiel.

“...Thanks, Cas,” Dean murmurs, accepting the cold bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one day I'll stop writing Dean/Cas being fools in awe of each other's eyes... that day will not be anytime soon


	18. ring the bell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [26.08.20]

Dean laughs, clapping a hand to Castiel's shoulder. "C'mon, buddy, just try it?"

Castiel squints at the tall vertical machine meant to test a person's strength.  _ Ring the Bell, _ what a peculiar name. It seems to function by having a piece of metal shoot up to hit the bell at the top, depending on how hard the hammer strikes the plate at the bottom of the contraption.

"I want the big bear," Jack chirps, pointing it out to a grimacing Sam. "Please!"

"I'm pretty sure we're gonna get more than that," Sam mutters, dragging a hand down his face.

Seeing Jack's enthusiasm for a prize, Castiel reluctantly nods, stepping forward to curl his fingers around the padded hammer the gameowner — Chris, his name tag says — offers him.

“Hit it as hard as you can, man,” Chris advises, no doubt judging Castiel by the ill fitting suit and baggy trench coat he’s wearing. Dean chuckles.

“...Alright.” Castiel raises the hammer to chest height — he might be  _ a little bit _ annoyed by the condescending tone only poorly hidden by politeness in Chris’ voice — and tightens his grip  _ just a smidge _ before swinging it back down.

The metal piece  _ smashes _ into the bell, wrenching it clear off the top to fly up in the sky, even as the contraption itself sinks an inch into the packed dirt. Every single person watching gasps loudly except for: Dean, who barks a delighted laugh; Jack, who giggles and claps; and Sam, who is speechless, jaw slack. Then the space fills with panicked cries as the bell begins its descent, people ducking and scrambling for cover — Dean, Sam, and Jack only stand still, watching as Castiel glances up and the bell is knocked several inches to the side  _ in the air. _

It lands safely next to the tent, next to Castiel politely lowering the hammer to the floor. Dean’s entire body shudders and he tells himself it’s because of the muffled but high pitched ringing sound of the bell crashing to the ground.

Chris wordlessly packs his backpack, and with a stilted  _ it’s all yours, _ makes a shaky exit. Castiel proudly presents Jack with the massive stuffed bear, struggling to wrap his arms around both the plushy and Jack when the kid attempts to hug Castiel with the bear in the middle.

They spend the next half hour handing out stuffed animals to starry eyed children, because there’s only so many they can pack into the Impala with them.


	19. hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Hints at child abuse  
> [26.08.20]

“Cas.”

“Dean,” Castiel gasps, turning around so quickly his head spins. “Where have you been—” He blinks, frowning. “Dean. What happened?”

Dean’s mouth drops open. There’s something alarmingly close to tears in his wide eyes. He closes his mouth again, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and swallows hard before he speaks. “I’m fine.”

Castiel steps closer; Dean’s lashes flutter as he avoids Castiel’s earnest gaze. “What happened,” Castiel presses in a gentle murmur.

“Nothing,” Dean breathes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you yesterday.”

Calm as a slow flowing river, Castiel says, “It’s alright. Did you trip and fall again?”

Dean doesn’t give him a response. Worry threatens to drown Castiel in its depths.

“Would you like to come over? We have a freshly baked apple pie.”

“Okay.” Dean’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Okay,” he repeats, almost to himself, eyes trained on his shoes, and Castiel can’t help but curl his fingers around Dean’s wrist to guide him forward.

Except Dean flinches _hard_ at the contact. Heart in his throat, Castiel gently pushes up the sleeve of Dean’s shirt, his fear only growing when Dean doesn’t protest.

“C’mon.” Castiel’s voice trembles with tears he can’t let fall and his heart aches and Dean’s been hurting much more than Castiel could’ve ever imagined, but Castiel grabs Dean’s hand, pressing their palms together as he leads Dean to his home.

“Dean, welcome,” Bobby greets, smiling warmly at the pair. “Sit down, I’ll grab you a slice of pie. Kiddo, you want one?”

Castiel shakes his head — a sharp, jerky movement — and says, “Can Dean stay?”

“Sure. His dad finally agree, or—?”

“Go up to my room, the left door all the way at the end of the hall,” Castiel tells Dean, who only nods weakly with frightening obedience. “I’m going to get Sam, I’ll be right back.”

Bobby stands up, tugging on his coat. “’m goin’ with. Ain’t gonna let that bastard hurt anyone again.”


	20. purr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [26.08.20]

_ “Sonovabitch,” _ Dean hisses as he scrabbles against  _ himself _ pinning him to the cold, criminally dusty, concrete floor. “Sammy?! A little help here?”

Sam groans weakly from where he’s fumbling to haul himself back upright from where he’d been thrown against the wall. Okay, alright, fine, that’s cool. No help for a while, then. Dammit. Dean punches his doppelganger across the face, but the bastard only laughs. Huh, hopefully he doesn’t sound  _ that _ crazy when he laughs.

A snarl echoes in the open space, and then the doppelganger is knocked off Dean by a massive weight. Evil Dean yells, shoving at the  _ leopard _ going at his neck like it’s a free five course dinner buffet, but the big cat only lashes its tail through the air and sinks  _ long _ canines into a soft, human throat. Blood splatters when the leopard tears out a hefty chunk of Dean’s — his doppelganger, not him, but it’s still a rather disconcerting sight to see himself losing his esophagus — neck, painting golden tanned fur brilliant crimson.

Down Evil Dean goes, falling slowly like a felled tree; Dean crawls quickly to his gun, emptying two silver shots into the doppelganger’s heart. Its entire muzzle bloody, the leopard steps primly off the corpse to saunter up to Dean, sniffing at him as if it would be able to pick out anything from the blood in its mouth.

“I’m fine,” Dean sighs, sitting back to let the big cat poke its nose around his torso. “Thanks for the assist, Cas.”

Huffing a gentle breath, Castiel yawns and absently licks blood off a paw. Sprawling lazily all over one of Dean’s legs, Castiel butts his head underneath Dean’s hand, the tip of his tail flipping happily through the air. The instant Dean catches the hint and hesitantly scratches behind one rounded ear, Castiel starts purring, the sound vibrating louder and louder until he sounds like an idling motorcycle engine (only with four paws, a tail, and  _ very strong _ jaws).


	21. bath or shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [26.08.20]

Dean hums happily. He’ll never grow tired of waking up to this.

“Good morning, Dean.”

Deft, careful fingers card through his primary feathers, tugging gently, and Dean mumbles an indistinct sound of pleasure. Boneless from the perfect amount of fulfilling slumber, he blindly stretches out a hand, sinking his fingers into soft, strong feathers.

Blinking his eyes open to smile up at the sleep rumpled blue eyed man laying next to him, Dean sighs a lazy, “Mornin’, Sunshine.”

Castiel smiles in return, warm and fond and perfect. His midnight dark wing shifts under Dean’s hand, brushing up against Dean’s until sandy with chocolate brown speckled feathers poke out between the black.

Dean chuckles. “S’that you tellin’ me you want your feathers preened, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” Castiel rumbles, leaning forward to nuzzle their noses together.

“Or…” Dean cups Castiel’s jaw with one hand, dragging the pad of his thumb across Castiel’s cheekbone. “We take a nice shower — or bath,  _ I don’t mind _ — and then you make me coffee.”

Castiel closes his eyes and leans into Dean’s touch. “Hmm. What if I want to sleep some more?”

Dean’s mouth curls into a smirk. “You can sleep. But…” He slides his thumb over the swell of Castiel’s bottom lip.  _ “Then, I can’t blow you in the shower.” _

Castiel shivers, his lips parting under Dean’s thumb. They’re close enough for Dean to see Castiel’s eyes dilate when they flutter open.

“And,” Dean purrs, feigning innocence,  _ “you can’t fuck me in the bath.” _ Tapping his index finger to Castiel’s nose, he murmurs, “Up to you.”

With that, Dean rolls out of bed, the ends of his wings trailing on the hardwood floor. A few paces away, he turns to peek coyly over his shoulder. “You comin’?”

Castiel just about tumbles over the side of their bed.  _ “For you,” _ he growls, chasing a laughing Dean into their bathroom.


	22. good [E]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of bondage and praise kink  
> [26.08.20]

Dean is beautiful. And so,  _ so _ good.

The instant Castiel had walked back into their bedroom, he’d caught one single glimpse of Dean — on his knees with his head bowed, hands bound behind his back by one of Castiel’s blue ties, miles upon miles of gorgeous freckled skin on display for only Castiel’s eyes — and all the blood in him had rushed south so quickly his head spun.

“So good for me,” Castiel praises in a low murmur, breathless in the face of Dean’s obedience.

“Yes.” The click of Dean’s throat when he swallows is loud in the silence, his voice trembling faintly when he continues with a soft, “Sir.”

Castiel smiles. “Up.” He watches as Dean scrambles to obey, wobbling slightly from kneeling for so long. “On the bed, please.”

Dean hesitates and Castiel just about  _ melts. _

“Would you like me to untie you?” Castiel moves closer, trailing his fingers down the strong line of Dean’s forearm. At Dean’s uncertain nod, he carefully removes the tie, tossing it to the floor.

Wrists bare, Dean crawls onto the bed, pausing for a beat before rolling onto his back. Castiel hadn’t even entertained the thought, but Dean raises his hands above his head, curling his fingers around one wrist.

_ “Good boy,” _ Castiel praises even as he slicks himself up with lube, groaning quietly in pleasure. “Colour?”

“Green.” The hesitation is shorter this time. “Sir.”

Castiel joins Dean on the bed, pressing their lips together in a sweet kiss. Dean hums into it, his jaw falling slack with a whine when Castiel takes the opportunity to reach down and remove the pretty plug from inside him. Ever cautious, Castiel takes his time stretching Dean out on three fingers, nipping at Dean’s jaw as Dean whimpers.

_ “Please,” _ Dean groans, arms flexing against his desire to touch, and who is Castiel to deny him when he’s been so good?

Their twin moans meld — Dean’s a little higher, Castiel’s a little lower — when Castiel finally sinks home, and he can’t find it in himself to protest when Dean wraps bowed legs around his waist. Castiel’s planning to give in and let Dean touch him, anyway.

“For you, Dean,” Castiel says as he kisses his way down Dean’s neck, rolling his hips just to hear Dean gasp,  _ “anything.” _


	23. Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow this is SOFT  
> [26.08.20]

“Cas,” Dean croaks, voice raspy and a touch uneasy.

As he’s done multiple times, Castiel wordlessly sheds his trench coat and suit jacket, removes his shoes and socks. He leaves his clothing on the single chair in Dean’s room, arranges his shoes neatly on the floor in front. Then, he makes a beeline for Dean’s bed. The lack of light in the room does not impede his sight in the slightest, and Castiel only watches as Dean blinks blearily in Castiel’s general direction, human eyes useless in the dark.

“May I,” Castiel murmurs in the gloom, quiet and gentle.

Dean doesn’t respond. Dean never responds. But Dean also never utters a single  _ no _ to Castiel, only used to grumble weakly, but even that trickled off as time passed.

So Castiel invites himself under Dean’s blanket, again, and lies on his side to gather Dean to his chest. Dean almost seems to seek out Castiel’s warmth now, scooting forward when the mattress dips tellingly with a new weight to wrap his arms around Castiel’s torso.

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean in kind, holding Dean close. Dean relaxes much faster with Castiel next to him, now; perhaps he’s realized the shelter he has in Castiel’s arms, the safety Castiel promises when he’s by Dean’s side. Angels may not watch over Dean like his mother had said, but his very own angel will.

Dean sighs softly — his breath is warm against Castiel’s collarbone — and surrenders himself to sleep once again. In the morning, Dean won’t mention this to anyone, but will offer Castiel coffee and beer as tokens of his gratitude. Castiel won’t understand why Dean insists on being so stubborn and repressed, but will accept anything Dean decides to give him.

Perhaps, with time, Dean will learn Castiel isn’t going anywhere. Perhaps he will understand Castiel would do  _ anything _ for him. But for now, Castiel will watch over Dean, and be a shelter if Dean were to seek him out.


	24. yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [28.08.20]

Dean is dying. He's holding his hands to the gaping wound in his side, his blood staining the dirt black, every breath he forces into his lungs an agonized wheeze. Dean is dying and Castiel doesn't have enough grace to keep anyone alive.

"Dean," Castiel gasps.

Green eyes glazed with agony, Dean attempts a smile. It looks like a grimace. “Cas.”

“I—”  _ I don’t have enough grace, _ Castiel doesn’t say. Instead, he scoots closer on his knees. All his words have anchored themselves to his throat; everything except,  _ “Dean.” _

Dean only smiles, a touch more genuine, like he’s glad Castiel’s there. But Castiel’s  _ useless _ because his grace is a dying flame, small and weak, only just barely alive. One plus one might equal two, but two halves can only make one whole.

If Castiel can make Dean whole, he’ll happily give up his half. His chances of survival are just as — if not lower — than Dean’s, anyway.

All the time Castiel’s spent around humans has taught him greed. He’s always been a little greedy, sneaking small touches here and there when it came to Dean, but this time... If this must be his last chance, then he’ll kneel in penance and be as greedy as he can ever be.

Dean whines a weak, high sound of surprise when their lips meet. Desperation has Castiel kissing Dean harder,  _ rougher, _ as he shoves the tattered remains of his grace towards Dean with all the strength he could muster. Fisting a bloody hand in Castiel’s coat lapel, Dean feebly tugs Castiel even closer, gasping a choked sob (from relief or something worse, Castiel doesn’t know) that has his lips parting, and Castiel takes the invitation to press his regret —  _ I’m sorry I’m so useless, I’m sorry I can’t fix you _ — into Dean’s mouth. Little whimpers catch in the back of Dean’s throat, soft and pained, but he kisses Castiel with identical levels of desperation, of longing.

Castiel forces himself back, the barest whispers of his grace roiling inside, just enough to keep him alive for a few more moments, to keep him breathing long enough to say his goodbyes—

_ “Yes.” _

Castiel blinks. His head is spinning, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Dean—”

“Yeah, you heard me—” Dean’s still clutching at Castiel’s coat; he pulls, insignificant, but Castiel lets himself fall all the same.  _ “Yes, Castiel.” _


	25. worship on your knees [E]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [31.08.20]

The first time, it’s because of a spell.

Dean holds it off until it burns bright as a supernova inside him and he excuses himself to the diner restroom, locking the dirty, wobbly door behind him. But the spell won’t be satisfied by masturbation, and Castiel takes it upon himself to give Dean a hand.

Not literally, apparently, because Castiel lowers himself to his knees in front of Dean —  _ one of the Lord’s angels, kneeling as if in penance on a filthy restroom floor, at the feet of a human man; it’s literal blasphemy, the worst sin ever possible _ — and brushes his fingers over Dean’s belt loops, blue eyed gaze serious and calm as ever. Dean can’t draw breath for protest, so Castiel slowly unbuckles Dean’s belt, pops the button and unzips his fly with sure, deft movements of those elegant fingers.

The first brush of Castiel’s tongue, curious, has Dean tossing his head back against the stall wall, nearly biting through his own tongue with how quickly he has to snap his jaw shut. He presses a palm to cold, painted steel, the other to his mouth, muffling his soft gasp as Castiel explores his length with warm, gentle fingertips.

_ Don’t be a tease, _ Dean can’t say. If he were to open his mouth, the dam would break.

Castiel, to Dean’s inevitable relief, seems to understand the urgency of the situation. The angel — on his knees, dark head bowed to a man — licks his lips, opens his mouth, and takes Dean in one smooth, hot slide.

Thighs trembling, Dean sinks his teeth into his palm, arching his back and choking on a cut off groan when Castiel swallows, his throat squeezing around Dean. No gag reflex at all,  _ Jesus fuckin’ Christ— _

Huffing a hum, Castiel stares sternly upward —  _ don’t be blasphemous, Dean _ — and the sight of those pink lips, slick and stretched wide, nearly brings Dean to his knees. For an angel who’s never done any sort of  _ cloud seeding _ in his time, Castiel works Dean easily; taking him up so high he sees stars, so fast his head spins. And for someone who’s profusely adamant about  _ no teeth near the goods, _ Dean ends up losing himself when Castiel brings in a careful touch of his teeth, the brief caress of suggested danger shoving Dean bodily over the edge.

Ridiculously unruffled, Castiel holds still while Dean shakes, swallowing everything Dean gives him. He licks Dean clean and tucks him neatly back into his pants, brushing the backs of his knuckles almost possessively over the soft bulge as he buckles Dean’s belt. Then Castiel smiles, small and pleased, and if Dean didn’t just have his brain turned into mush, he would’ve kissed those lips to see if that smile would grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Full fic is [One Word Silence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26270041)!


	26. faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [01.09.20]

_ Anytime, Cas. _

Castiel appears in a quiet flutter of wings, his back to Dean, and promptly takes a bullet straight to the chest. Calm as anything, he waves a hand, sending the offending person flying into the nearest wall. The limp body flops to the floor like a dead fish, gun clattering where it lands. Blue eyes stormy, Castiel turns to face Dean.

“Thanks for the save, Cas,” Dean says, warm.

Brow furrowing, Castiel stalks forward. The space between them disappears, their chests nearly touching. “Dean, that was extremely dangerous—”

Dean shrugs carelessly. “Knew you’d show up on time.”

“Had I been late  _ one second—” _

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, fisting a hand in Castiel’s lapel and tugging. Castiel, a bloody  _ wavelength of celestial intent packed into a mortal body, _ allows himself to stumble towards Dean, guided by Dean’s touch. “Okay,” Dean murmurs under his breath, and rocks forward to brush their lips together.

For a heart stopping moment, Castiel doesn’t react. Just as Dean’s about to pull back and start listing hasty but empty apologies, Castiel presses closer, carefully kissing Dean in return.

Dean hums a pleased noise deep in his throat, curling a hand behind Castiel’s neck. When he teases his tongue over the seam of those soft, chapped lips, Castiel parts them without any hesitation, inviting Dean in. Their tongues entwine in a wet, hot slide, Castiel tipping his head back just the slightest to give Dean better access.

Hindered by his human need to breathe, Dean reluctantly separates from Castiel, resting their foreheads together as he pants a few desperate breaths. Ridiculously sappy, Castiel brings a hand to Dean’s face, gently cupping his cheek to drag a thumb, featherlight, across the freckles scattered over Dean’s cheekbone. His heart melting into a delighted puddle behind the bars of its cage, Dean surges forward to kiss Castiel again, his fingers digging into Castiel’s nape.

In return, Castiel hums a content sound into Dean’s mouth, the hand he doesn’t have on Dean’s face settling on Dean’s hip, solid and warm. They share another deep, now familiar kiss; Dean could do this forever, live happily on the scraps of air he could get between these knee weakening kisses, kiss Castiel until his lips grow tired and then kiss him again—

“Um,” Sam coughs, “could you drop me off at the motel first?”


	27. rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [02.09.20]

Dean shivers.

_ Ugh. _ He hates rainy days. There’s no sun — leaving him tired, despondent — and while the rain pounding away at the roof makes for a steady lullaby, it also brings an unpleasant feeling of  _ damp, _ a chill lingering deep in his bones. He glances out the window, missing the heat of sunshine on his skin.

“Dean,” a low, drowsy voice calls.

Perking up, Dean turns around. His husband’s head, dark hair still the same endearing mess, pokes out from a nest of pillows and blankets on their bed. Blue eyes blink sluggishly in the warm light of their big lamp.

“Hm,” Dean hums, a fond smile curving his lips, “you feelin’ lonely over there, sweetheart?”

Castiel wiggles deeper under the comforter, until only his nose and the top half of his face is visible. “Yes,” he rumbles, entirely shameless, and Dean chuckles as he abandons his desk in favour of sauntering to their bed.

Kicking off his slippers, Dean crawls over to where his husband lies sprawled on his back. Castiel lazily raises the comforter with one arm, watching Dean through his lashes; Dean happily accepts the invitation, flopping down on top of Castiel, fully expecting at least a weak grumble. But Castiel doesn’t protest, only breathes a slightly strained exhale as he settles his arm and the comforter across Dean’s back, his warmth seeping into Dean’s cold limbs.

Even squashed under Dean’s considerable weight, Castiel smiles, boneless and content and Dean can’t resist— He cranes his neck forward, pressing a soft kiss to Castiel’s lips. Castiel’s smile widens even as he returns the kiss, his fingers splaying possessively between Dean’s shoulder blades. His lips taste of the organic honey he loves to add to his tea, and Dean nips gently at the swell of Castiel’s bottom lip, indulgent and unhurried like they have all the time in the world.

They trade sweet, chaste kisses, lovely and affectionate, Castiel humming little sounds of contentment, as if his happiness simply couldn’t be contained within him. Dean continues lavishing him with little kisses along his cheeks, jaw, and forehead, until Castiel’s breaths even out into slumber. Then, Dean loses himself in listening to Castiel’s heart beating steadily, feeling the way Castiel’s chest rises and falls beneath his cheek.

Outside, the heavy rain doesn’t cease. Indoors, curled together in bed, Castiel and Dean sleep bathed in the light of their lamp, a man made imitation of the sun.


	28. sleep well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [04.09.20]

He doesn’t mean to.

Curiosity… Such a human emotion.

But he’s always been bad at resisting Dean Winchester.

So when Castiel takes one look at Dean — brows furrowed as flinches and shakes in his fitful sleep, lips forming one syllable he doesn’t voice — and tumbles headfirst into his dreams, Castiel has nothing to blame but his own nature.

_ Dean stares down at the stainless steel lighter in his hands. There’s something  _ wrong  _ about him. Like someone’s stolen his soul, his reason to live, and left a shell behind. Dean — strong, beautiful, fiery Dean — is empty, his eyes hollow like all his fight had just packed up and vacated the premises. _

_ Then the lighter is lit, little flame burning as hot as Dean is cold. Dean glances away as he tosses it at the foot of a massive pyre, gasoline soaked wood instantly catching fire. It’s a roiling mass of smoke and blindingly bright flames in a second; and there Dean stands, green eyes glassy and unblinking, until it burns itself out. _

_ (Castiel doesn’t understand. He’s witnessed Sam and Dean giving multiple people — so many, far too many — hunter’s funerals, silent in their mourning, and yet... None of them stole the fire from inside Dean, none of them left him  _ less  _ determined to fight on for yet another life, shouldering the memories like Atlas himself—) _

_ And then the scene shifts, all light seeping out unseen edges— Dean falls to his knees next to a body sprawled in the lifeless sand, enormous outlines of damaged wings scorched into the ground, an unmistakable visage just barely lit by the waning silver moon in a starless sky— _

Castiel inhales a sharp, unnecessary breath, blinking in the darkness of Dean’s bedroom. Still asleep and firmly trapped in the web of his dreams, Dean turns his head towards Castiel, expression twisted in pain as he gasps a soundless  _ Cas. _

Slowly, almost cautiously, Castiel reaches out, tapping his first two fingers to Dean’s forehead. Dean immediately stills, every muscle falling slack as he sinks into a deep, dreamless sleep. He’s better like this, Castiel muses, all sleep warm and soft, the weight of living momentarily lifted from his fragile human shoulders.

“Sleep well, Dean,” Castiel murmurs, the only blessing he is capable of bestowing.

He departs in a quiet rustle of feathers. But Castiel doesn’t stray — he never strays far — lingering close to watch over the troubled human he’s grown quite fond of.


	29. stay [E]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [05.09.20]

_ “Ah— _ Cas—”

Castiel hums. He tightens his grip, lets Dean buck up into his fist. “That’s it,” he purrs, right up against the shell of Dean’s ear, “come for me, Dean.”

After being denied multiple times, held on the razor’s edge of pleasure for so long he’s just about incoherent, Dean doesn’t need anything else to choke on a tiny noise not unlike a sob and spill over his stomach. Castiel gently works Dean through his orgasm until Dean’s shuddering from oversensitivity in his arms, gasping exhales hot and damp at Castiel’s neck.

Dean’s boneless and pliant as putty when Castiel carefully lowers him to the bed, cleaning him up with no more than a pointed thought and nudge of grace as he rearranges Dean’s clothes. Mumbling an unintelligible sound, Dean presses his cheek into his pillow, breathing slow and deep as he slips further into unconsciousness.

Well. That means Castiel’s mission to relax Dean has been quite successful.

He should also be on his way, lest he be accused of being “creepy” yet again. A shame, really; Dean is beautiful in repose, features relaxed and tranquil and unhindered by anger or something far worse: grief.

He loathes having to leave Dean’s side; but if his presence causes Dean discomfort, then Castiel will leave. Slowly, so as not to disturb Dean, Castiel shifts his weight off the mattress to stand. Before he gets very far, however, Dean has a hand curled around his tie, green eyes narrow slits behind thick lashes.

Castiel freezes, just as Dean’s eyes slip shut again, his hand falling slack when he releases Castiel’s tie.

Dean’s properly asleep now, his heartbeat slowing to the steady rate of slumber, leaving Castiel to puzzle over the tie grabbing alone. He’d been making to leave, and Dean had taken hold of his tie, as if to stop him doing so. Logical conclusion: Dean wants Castiel to stay. Yet, he’s never stopped Castiel from leaving, before. What is so special about this time?

Still, Castiel could never bring himself to deny Dean. Even if he were to be reprimanded when Dean wakes, Castiel shall stay, because Dean has requested it.

So Castiel sits down next to Dean, a tireless sentry waiting for the dawn.


	30. offering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vampire Dean  
> [06.09.20]

When Dean returns home, Castiel’s in the kitchen, chopping away at some carrots.

“Welcome back, Dean,” Castiel says, calm as anything.

Dean hums a distracted response. He steps up behind Castiel to press a kiss to his temple, warm and affectionate, lips curving upward when Castiel leans slightly into the gesture.

Not seconds later, the distinct coppery scent of blood fills the air, instantly followed by a low hiss.

“Dammit,” Castiel grumbles as he shoves his hand under the running tap. Dean, however, is much more preoccupied with stumbling backward, ducking his head and breathing as shallowly as he could manage with his heart pounding away at the bars of its cage. Castiel’s voice is quiet when he shuts off the tap, murmuring a worried, “Dean?”

Eyes squeezed shut, Dean shakes his head.  _ Don’t. _ But Castiel either doesn’t understand or chooses not to, for he closes the distance between them, hands damp when he cups Dean’s face and urges his chin up.

“Dean.”

Dean hesitates for several slower heartbeats before he finally blinks his eyes open, gaze lowered to the floor under his lashes. At Castiel’s soft gasp, something like wonder living in the tiny sound, Dean looks up, startled into forgetting the shame of his red tinted eyes.

Contrary to Dean’s expectations, Castiel doesn’t appear to be disgusted; instead, Castiel’s bright with  _ curiosity _ as he studies Dean’s eyes, then gently presses his fingertips into Dean’s jaw in a silent request. Utterly bewildered, Dean obliges, opening his mouth. He flinches when Castiel curls his index fingers behind Dean’s fangs without the slightest hint of hesitation, squinting into Dean’s mouth like the pair of delicately pointed teeth are the most fascinating things he’s ever seen.

Castiel hums a satisfied noise after he’s studied Dean’s fangs for entirely too long for Dean’s sanity. “It’s alright,” he says, tilting his head to one side and baring his neck in offering, all insouciant like he isn’t giving Dean permission to  _ suck his blood— _

“In any case,” Castiel purrs, his eyes glowing electric blue as the pupils thin into sharp slits, “you won’t hurt me.”


	31. warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [07.09.20]

Castiel’s lounging on the sofa with a cushion supporting his back and a book in his hands when he hears what he knows are claws clicking against their hardwood flooring.

Lowering his book enough to see the floor, Castiel chuckles. Dean trills as he approaches, tail waving lazily through the air behind him. He’s a little thing — much like a roasted caramel brown cat, only with scales and wings — quite unlike the grand, hulking dragons of fairy tales and legends, but he still breathes fire and is  _ fiercely _ protective of any and every thing he becomes even slightly attached to. Not to mention his tendency to growl when he’s displeased, although he just about never acts aggressive towards Castiel in any way.

“моя маленькая ящерица,” Castiel says, warm and affectionate.

Dean rumbles a sound deep in his chest, not quite a growl and definitely not a purr, tail lashing once in displeasure even as he leaps up onto the sofa next to Castiel. If he had the ability to form words, Castiel has no doubt he’d be saying,  _ Quit callin’ me that. _ Still, it’s only a weak, halfhearted protest, effectively blunted by Dean settling himself in Castiel’s lap, front legs and head resting right on one of Castiel’s thighs.

Smiling behind his book, Castiel rests a hand on Dean’s back, mindful of his folded wings. Dean huffs a faint curl of smoke, jewel bright green eyes slipping shut.

132 pages later and Castiel’s eyes are drooping, lulled by the warm weight in his lap, Dean’s steady breathing the perfect siren’s call towards slumber. “Dean,” he murmurs, soft.

Dean’s tail twitches.

“Would you like to go to bed?”

Trilling short and happy, Dean hops off the sofa. At Castiel’s feet, he rears up on his hind legs, and in the time it takes Castiel to blink, Dean’s all the right  _ -less[es] _ again: wingless, tail-less, scale-less. Green eyes smiling, Dean leans down to brush their lips together in a featherlight kiss.

Castiel accepts Dean’s hand, weaving their fingers together as they make their way to bed, shoulders bumping occasionally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> моя маленькая ящерица should be “my little lizard” in Russian


	32. son of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greek god inspired!  
> [08.09.20]

“Hey,  _ pretty boy— _ Wanna have some fun?”

This is turning out to be a mistake of colossal proportions. Dean had only agreed to bring Castiel to his usual haunt after weeks of turning down all requests and resisting those blue puppy dog eyes with all the strength he possessed. He is still  _ very  _ much against this entire thing, just to be clear. After all, how could he — son of Ares, the god of war — bring  _ Cas _ (of all people!) to a fight club? And yet, here they are, some stupidly tall asshole standing in front of them  _ leering _ at Castiel as if Dean was as good as transparent.

Now, that he can’t stand. Dean’s never been one to be a wallflower.

“Back off,” Dean growls.

The guy only spares Dean the briefest of glances. “Wasn’t talkin’ to you.”

Uncrossing his arms, Dean moves to stalk forward. He hasn’t decided which option he likes better — getting up into the guy’s face so he’s forced to face Dean instead of Castiel, or lay the guy flat for looking in Castiel’s direction — but he figures it doesn’t matter whichever one he ends up doing. They’re both excellent ideas, anyway.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs. It's more than enough to halt Dean midstep; he even takes a little step back, for good measure. Castiel brushes his fingertips over Dean's elbow, the gesture simultaneously gratitude and reassurance, as he takes the step forward in Dean's stead. "Hand to hand combat— That is the rule, yes?"

The other man laughs. Dean wants to punch his face in. “I win, I getta keep ya.”

Castiel doesn’t grace those words with a response, only waits until the man gets into a careless imitation of a battle stance. He’s clearly underestimating Castiel, and Dean has to dig his nails into his palms to keep himself in check.

“C’mon,” the man taunts—

And Castiel strikes, quick and graceful as a snake, kicking the man’s legs out from under him. In the time it takes the guy to fall to his knees, Castiel has a hand around his neck, squeezing just enough to be a thorough warning. The air goes sharp and charged as Castiel’s eyes glow, white-hot with edges of vivid blue, thin streaks of electricity spilling from the corners.

“Don’t approach me — or Dean — again.”

Subsequent visits no longer pose any problems — rare few have the courage to challenge someone experienced in war, and  _ nobody  _ dares to mess with a son of Zeus.


	33. surprise [M]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [09.09.20]

Castiel returns home with groceries in his arms and anticipation buzzing through his nerves.

_ I have a surprise for you, _ Dean had purred over the phone, his voice a dark promise, and Castiel had been unable to hold back his shiver, standing in front of the pie display in the supermarket. A middle aged woman had given him the stink eye as she rolled her cart past him — ah, he’d frozen in the middle of the aisle — but he hadn’t cared, breathing a stunned  _ Dean _ as Dean chuckled in his ear and wished him safe travels on his way back.

Putting the groceries in the fridge passes by in a blur for Castiel, his mind far too preoccupied. He sheds his coat and suit jacket, draping them over the back of their sofa as he searches for Dean; his eyes finally land on a figure leaning casually against the open doorway of the hall leading to their bedroom.

Dean has his arms folded across his chest, the cuffs of his biggest hoodie hiding his palms and fingers up to the second knuckle. He looks cozy enveloped in soft cotton, and for a moment, Castiel wonders if the surprise was cuddling in bed. Then his gaze travels downward, and  _ oh— _ The hoodie might be large enough to hide several inches past Dean’s hips but beyond that, Dean’s legs are definitely exposed, his feet bare on the hardwood.

Castiel swallows. “Hello, Dean,” he manages to utter. Somehow, his voice holds steady, a deceptive calm he doesn’t feel.

Smiling, Dean licks his lips — quick, teasing swipe of pink tongue — before he replies with a cheerful, “Heya, Cas.” His smile shifts into something smaller, almost bashful, and then he’s pulling the hoodie up over his head. It slithers to the floor in a heap.

The first thing Castiel sees is the delicate, pastel pink lace sitting low on Dean’s hips. He sucks in a sharp breath, glancing up— And his gaze catches on smooth, black leather, snug around the pale column of Dean’s neck, unpainted metal of the O ring at the front and buckle at the side gleaming in the light. A  _ surprise, _ indeed.

It isn’t until Dean shifts his weight, the floorboards creaking faintly, does Castiel realize he’s been silently staring. Dean’s eyes are lowered, every muscle tense, fingers anxiously twisted together above his stomach. His cheeks are flushed, but not in the way Castiel never tires of seeing; Dean isn’t happy, and Castiel needs to remedy that.

“Dean,” Castiel gasps, sliding forward on socked feet, “look at you.” He brushes his fingertips down Dean’s ribs, settling his palms on the soft sharpness of Dean’s hips.  _ “So beautiful.” _

Dean’s mouth parts at the praise, the pink of his cheeks deepening. His lashes flutter as he lowers his eyes and this time, they’re bright, pleased.

“For me,” Castiel purrs, his tone lilting up just enough to hint at a question.

Dean’s breath hitches quietly. “Yeah,” he sighs on a shaky exhale.

Castiel can’t resist; he hooks a finger around the metal ring on the collar, gently tugging, and Dean stumbles across the meager distance between them with a gasp. Their lips are so close, they brush briefly when Castiel speaks.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean kisses him in lieu of a reply.


	34. meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [09.09.20]

Someone’s been killing his plants. It starts with a massive area of total annihilation, decreasing in size, until it gradually becomes only a patch of ailing grains, wilted and sad. Although he is capable of bringing the plants that are still alive back to perfect health with a single touch, Dean is rather curious about the mysterious situation.

He spends a few moons studying the health of his grains and narrowing down time, until he is nearly certain the problem occurs when the sun hangs the highest in the sky. Today, Dean’s going to find out what — or who — is consistently harassing his poor plants. Why it (or they) would choose broad daylight to commit the crime is far beyond Dean’s comprehension, and he’s going to make it/them regret it.

Just before the sun reaches its maximum height in the sky, Dean sets out of his home for a stroll in his field, determined to catch the perpetrator in the act. He has to walk to nearly the edge of the reach of his power before he spots a dark head. So, it’s a _who,_ not a _what._ The man — obviously a man, yes, look at the width of those shoulders — is clad in a long, flowing midnight cape, his hair chaotically wind ruffled, and he’s sitting in the center of a wide ring of Dean’s drooping plants like he has a right to be there. (He definitely doesn’t. Dean might be a little scatter brained, but even he would remember giving _anybody_ permission to frolic in his field.)

“So you’re the one killin’ my plants,” Dean says, brushing his fingers through the wilting grains as he approaches the man. At his touch, the golden colour returns to the plants and they straighten, standing tall as they wave gently in the breeze. “Son of Hades?”

The dark head turns, and _oh—_ How ironic it is for him, a dweller of the underground, to have eyes blue as the cloudless summer skies currently above their heads. “Oh,” the man gasps, his voice rumbling low as thunder, “my apologies, I didn’t mean...” He trails off, blue eyes forlorn as he watches Dean revive the grains around him.

“Hm,” Dean hums, gingerly sitting down next to the man. “Gettin’ better, at least. You literally _killed_ ‘em at first.” Oddly enough, he can’t bring himself to be angry.

“I’m sorr—”

“Nah, s’fine. Can’t help it, can you?” Dean pokes one of the plants in front of them. It springs upright, swaying cheerfully from his touch. “Wanna tell me why you’re sittin’ around in my field, instead of — I don’t know — herding the dead, down there?”

The corners of the man’s mouth curls in a small smile. “I like it here. Watching life… It never gets old. I’m sorry my presence has ailed your field.”


	35. fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [11.09.20]

Castiel finds Dean in the kitchen.

He’s seated at the table with his hands curved around a short glass, head bowed. Next to his elbow is a stout bottle of thick glass, less than an inch of amber liquid left at the bottom. Whiskey. It’s going to be a rough night.

“Dean,” Castiel tries, soft and hesitant.

A muscle in Dean’s jaw flexes. He doesn’t speak for several heartbeats, and when he finally does, it’s in a hoarse whisper. “I couldn’t save— I  _ promised” _ — his voice breaks — “to keep her safe.”

Castiel slowly approaches the table. “It wasn’t your fault, Dean.”  _ It was mine, if only I was faster, what good are these wings when they don’t fly— _ “Nobody blames you.”

“I do.”

_ You shouldn’t, _ Castiel doesn’t say,  _ not when the fault lies with me. _ He swallows the words, because if Dean is anything, he’s selfless; as easy as it would be for Castiel to take the blame and accept Dean’s comforting words, it would only condemn Dean to the fate of shouldering the burden. So instead, Castiel holds the words close to his heart, wordlessly plucking the glass from Dean’s hands.

Dean doesn’t protest, staring blankly at the space it once occupied. He obediently stumbles towards his room at Castiel’s suggestion, weaving and wobbling enough to lend justification for Castiel pressing close to sling one of Dean’s arms over his shoulder. If the dampness of Dean’s eyes wasn’t alarming enough, his obvious inebriation definitely is.

Flat on his back, limbs sprawled across the bed, Dean blinks at the ceiling. “Cas,” he croaks, and the single syllable screams words he could never say—  _ It’s my fault, don’t leave, I’m sorry, help me— _

This is something Castiel can do, something he can fix. He steps closer, extending his left hand towards Dean’s forehead, deliberately moving slowly so Dean has time to understand and respond to the intention. Part of Castiel expects Dean to reject the offer; but he must be really hurting, because Dean only closes his eyes, subtly tipping his chin up in a show of vulnerability. Castiel gently brushes the pads of his middle and ring finger against Dean’s forehead, watching as Dean’s face falls slack in sleep.

Later, Castiel will check up on Sam, because both Sam and Dean are quite prone to self destruction and Castiel knows it all too well. He will make sure the wards are steady, see to cleaning Dean’s glass and storing what’s left of the whiskey. He will make fresh coffee in the morning, before the Winchesters wake.

But for now, Castiel will watch over Dean.


	36. kiss me [E]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [13.09.20]

“Be quiet,” Castiel rumbles, shoving Dean back against the bathroom stall door.

Dean gasps, bucking up into the tight circle of Castiel’s fist. It’s a touch too rough but his arousal is a heavy, heady warmth flooding his body, pounding in his ears and washing towards his extremities like a wave meeting the shore. He couldn’t be even close to tipsy from the single beer he’s had, yet he feels rather close to drunk as he musters up a sloppy, salacious grin. “Make me.”

Castiel, utterly unruffled, replies with a calm, “If you would prefer to be heard by any person walking through the door—” He punctuates his point with a sly twist of his wrist on the upstroke, elegant fingers squeezing just shy of too tight.

_ “Fuck,” _ Dean hisses, unable to stop himself from glancing down to see Castiel’s hand working him closer to orgasm,  _ “Cas.” _

“Maybe later,” Castiel murmurs. His free hand slips up the side of Dean’s neck, a warm caress, before settling over Dean’s slack mouth.

_ “Mmph—” _ Dean growls when Castiel’s hand only tightens in response to his attempt at shaking it off.  _ Cas, you bastard, let go. _ Castiel doesn’t seem to hear his blatantly abysmal attempt at a prayer, so Dean takes what would be the only logical action in such a situation: he sinks his teeth into Castiel’s palm.

Blinking slowly, Castiel lifts the hand. His other hand stills, giving Dean a frustrating opportunity to catch his breath. “You bit me.”

Dean pants, leaning back against the stall door. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re dense as fuck.”

Castiel frowns, and it definitely isn’t adorable, okay, because he’s standing there crammed next to the toilet in a tiny bathroom stall, all stiff in his baggy trench coat over his dumb suit and the backwards tie, with his hair fucked nine ways to Sunday (as usual) and his stupid blue eyes and he’s  _ still holding Dean’s dick in one hand— _

“I meant  _ kiss me, _ you idiot angel.”

And the kicked puppy look vanishes from those blue,  _ blue _ eyes, the downturn of those chapped lips replaced by a smile so small it’s barely there, yet it has Dean’s angel glowing brighter than the sun when he leans in to press their lips together.


	37. door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [14.09.20]

“I’m not done talking to you!”

The bastard doesn’t stop walking away from him. Dean growls low in his throat — sparing an irritated glare at the nearby student looking at him curiously — and jogs after the retreating back. He sees the suit clad figure walk through the closest door; without a second thought, Dean shoves the closing door open wider and follows.

_ “I said—” _ Dean squints in the abrupt sunlight, barely notices the red door closing behind him. He’s far too preoccupied with glaring at the man whirling around to stare at him with wide blue eyes.  _ “I’m not done talking—” _

“You—” Castiel looks at the red door. It’s closed now, of course. “Did you just… follow me through that door?” He blinks those stupid blue eyes, now bright as jewels in the sunshine. “How’d you do that?”

Taken aback, Dean’s anger falters. “I just…” He makes a shoving motion with his hands —  _ pushed the door, that’s how doors work _ — and glances at the bustle of curious strangers passing by them. Now that he’s noticed, nothing around him looks familiar. Is he tripping? “Um. Wha— Where are we?”

Castiel sighs, slipping his hands into his pockets. He’s unfairly handsome in the glowing afternoon sun, his dark suit accenting his broad shoulders and trim waist. “Canada.”

Dean blinks.  _ Canada… _ “Oh. Canada… Wait—  _ Maple leaf land?” _

Castiel grimaces.

_ “Canada,” _ Dean gasps. “S’that door  _ magic?  _ Holy shit…” His anger forgotten, he trots away down the street, gawking at everything: the buildings, street signs, people, even the very pavement under his feet.

“Wait—”

Dean ignores him. There’s no way Castiel would leave him stranded, and he might as well explore while he can. (Even so, he slows down to a calm wandering pace, giving Castiel a chance to catch up. Being in a foreign country for the first time is scary, okay?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on Goblin (the kdrama)! I like to think Dean would 100% make a game of summoning Cas at the most random of times


	38. sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wings!  
> [15.09.20]

Blinking blearily, Castiel follows the sound of a knife on a wooden cutting board into the kitchen. “Dean,” he mumbles, still far too sleepy to muster the strength for anything more vocal.

Setting down the knife to wipe the water off his hands with a towel, Dean turns, the tips of his wings brushing whisper-soft against the floor. “Cas.” His bare feet are silent when he closes the distance between them, green eyes soft and affectionate. “Did I wake you?”

Castiel shakes his head, closing his eyes against the gentle brush of Dean’s fingers through his hair. “Why didn’t you?” He sighs, exhausted but content, when Dean’s wings curve around his own in a loose embrace. “It’s my turn to make dinner.”

“You need the sleep,” Dean says, quiet and soothing, “I got this one.”

“‘kay,” Castiel breathes, smiling slightly when Dean slips an arm around his waist to pull him close. With Dean’s body heat on one side and Dean’s warm wing on the other, Castiel keeps his eyes closed, drifting in a light doze as Dean guides him back to their bedroom.

Their little nest of pillows and comforters still holds some of Castiel’s lingering warmth; curling himself on his side around Dean’s pillow to the sound of Dean’s fond chuckle, Castiel wiggles restlessly for a moment before he finds a satisfactory position to settle in. He stretches his wings behind him, fluffing up the feathers, then folds them close around himself, over the comforter Dean tucks around his shoulders.

Dean idly combs his fingers through Castiel’s hair, almost like he’s reluctant to leave. Several heartbeats later, Castiel hears the soft rustle of feathers when Dean bends down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs, brushing his thumb down Castiel’s cheek and jaw in a lingering caress. “I’ll wake you later.”


	39. love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst...  
> [15.09.20]

It takes Dean just about an entire decade and then some — years upon years of staring, wordless pining, self berating, mental wars pitting familial love against romantic love in elaborate battles of distraction — to finally say those three, small words. If it’s going to be the end, he’d rather go without those words stoppering up his lungs, suffocating him in the slowest, most agonizing death. He’s spent so long seeing those broad shoulders from the back as Castiel walked away, spent so long tracing that sharp profile with his eyes when Castiel’s not looking at him. Dean isn’t one for sappiness, but if he had one lasting regret…

_ “I love you.” _

The words choke him, tumble off his tongue in a jittery mess, and a distant, logical part of him celebrates to know he hasn’t fumbled the syllables, hasn’t butchered the meaning of those words into something broken.

With everything they’ve been through together, Dean’s convinced, at least Castiel will know to let him down with a modicum of grace— Pun not quite intended, but Dean’ll count his wins where he can. Maybe even a small part of him is actually hoping for an answer that won’t dash his bleeding heart to pieces against the concrete. No, he’s never been one for faith or hope. There are things he'll never have, never hold, and he knows he's far too damned to hold a candle to an  _ angel _ . To Castiel. Still, he’ll stretch his hand out, cradle that fragile not-quite-hope to his heart, wait for his fate.

Except Castiel’s face falls. That’s a new expression, one Dean hasn’t seen often, if at all; he’s seen arrogance, disgust, confusion, irritation, exhaustion, determination, sadness. Even fear. But this— It’s horror.

Right. What had he expected? Imagine having an insignificant gnat professing its love to you.  _ Horrifying, _ Dean thinks, his mind reeling, blood rushing in his ears. But as he watches, regret and sorrow bleeds into Castiel’s expression.

To Dean’s astonishment, Castiel’s wide blue eyes quickly fill with tears, spilling down his cheeks even as they continue holding eye contact. Dean swallows, gritting his teeth against the answering dampness threatening his own eyes.

The first droplet drips off Castiel’s chin to wet the lapel of his trench coat — staining the material dark — when the space right behind him tears open, a pair of slimy, tar-like black arms stretching out the darkness to snake around Castiel’s shoulders, hands spreading wide and possessive over Castiel’s chest.

_ “Dean,” _ Castiel says, his voice rough and desperate and full of bottomless sorrow,  _ “I’m sorry—” _

_ “Cas—!” _

The second droplet of Castiel’s tears lands on the empty floor where he’d once stood, staining the concrete dark in a tiny, perfect circle. An empty witness to it drying, Dean sinks to his knees, his sight blurring.

Castiel’s gone.

If only Dean hadn’t opened his mouth.


	40. twin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [16.09.20]

Dean sighs.

Back in the class he dislikes the most. He’s a math and sciences person, for Crissake, not liberal arts and humanities. Still, he’s put off the requirement for a year and a half now; it’s about time he finally got this over with. Not that he’ll be happy about it, though.

Trudging to his usual seat — right in the middle of the room, next to the steps running down the center of the lecture hall — to finally set down the coffee scalding his fingertips, Dean settles down with his chair tucked close to the table, wincing whenever anyone manages to push right up against him to squeeze past. He takes a careful sip of his coffee, breathing gentle breaths across the steaming surface as he watches other students wandering to their seats in varying degrees of exhaustion and resignation.

Someone pulls out the seat next to Dean.

Oh, good, his neighbour is here. He’s always been rather welcoming, excellent at idle chatter, and seems to struggle enough with the material for Dean to feel like they’re soldiers fighting the same battle together. They aren’t exactly  _ friends, _ but they’ve definitely exchanged enough greetings and words since the beginning of the course to be a little more than just mere acquaintances in the same class. Dean may dislike this sort of material, but with the nice seat neighbour, it’s nearly tolerable.

“Hey, Jimmy—” Dean blinks, his slight smile freezing on his face. Is that  _ ink _ he sees peeking out from under those t-shirt sleeves? “Uh, how long’ve you had tats, man?”

“Years,” the man says, his eyes the exact shade of blue Jimmy has and yet  _ somehow not _ when he spares Dean a glance.  _ He has the same features, _ Dean thinks, dazed. Did Jimmy ever mention having a twin? Except, unlike Jimmy, this man has  _ at least one tattoo, apparently, _ and a voice of pure  _ sin _ — deep, rough gravel, all raw and powerful like thunder. “I’m not Jimmy.”

Yeah, as if the realization hadn’t already hit Dean in the face like a brick.

“Alright— Settle down, please. Today, we’re going to—”

Dean doesn’t hear the rest of the professor’s sentence. He’s far too preoccupied with gawking at the mystery man — who is  _ probably _ Jimmy’s twin — smoothly flipping open a notebook and scrawling the date in an absurdly elegant cursive. The guy’s handwriting looks like a  _ font _ meant for classy wedding invitations, what the hell?

If Dean wasn’t busy fumbling his laptop out of his backpack, he’d probably do something stupid. Like ask for the guy’s number. Or accidentally knock over his coffee  _ while _ he’s trying to ask for the guy’s number.

At the end of the lecture, Dean makes for the exit like someone’s running after him with a knife.

That night, in the safety of his rented studio apartment, he wonders if he should be glad he didn’t make a fool of himself in front of someone he’d likely never see again.


	41. twin pt2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [16.09.20]

Next week, Jimmy is back, cheerful as ever.

“Hey, Dean!”

Dean looks up from his phone. “Jimmy.”

Jimmy grins, wiggling his fingers in a tiny wave; a smile lingers on his face as he pulls his laptop from his backpack. There’s nothing marring the pale skin of his bicep where it meets his t-shirt, not even when he lifts his arm and the sleeve inches up a little.

Dean watches his phone screen go dark. He runs a nail around the edge of its case, licking his lips. “You were…  _ different _ last week.”

“Yeah?” Jimmy laughs, his mouth curling with something secretive—  _ I know something you don’t know. _

“Thought I was goin’ crazy,” Dean says, nonchalant.  _ Sorry, I do know. _ “Shoulda known you couldn’t’ve been any good at acting.”

Jimmy juts his bottom lip out dramatically. “Aww, he told you? That’s no fun.” Then the pout drops. “Wait, he told you?”

Dean frowns. “Yeah?”

“Hmm,” Jimmy hums, thoughtful in the way of someone rearranging mental furniture.

"Okay, phones away, please! I'm going to go ahead and start the lecture for this week."

Dean lets his wandering thoughts of Jimmy's mysterious doppelganger go in favour of actually listening to the professor ramble on for the next two hours. The guy is interesting, but he could be going to an entirely different school for all Dean knew. Hell, he could be a few years older and already graduated.

There are plenty of other things for Dean to be worrying about. He doesn't have the time to be thinking about a guy whose name he doesn't even know.


	42. twin pt3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [16.09.20]

Friday morning finds Dean venturing into the building housing the campus library, an impressively old but still elegant structure. The sky is a washed out rainy gray, the air of fading winter still chilly enough to nip colour into exposed skin and condense exhales as delicate clouds.

Dean huddles his pocketed hands together over his stomach to tug the unzipped halves of his jacket closer around himself, scrunching up his nose with a yawn. He shivers, sighs, then heads inside.

It’s really early, so it’s no surprise to Dean when he spots only a handful of students wandering about. The first few floors are usually the busiest and loudest because they aren’t designated silent floors, but right now, they’re all peaceful, eerily quiet like an airport during the few hours directly after midnight.

Hands still shoved in his pockets, Dean strolls along the long metal bookshelf holding course textbooks — optional or required — on reserve. These aren’t allowed to leave the library, so when Dean finally finds the one he’s looking for, he quickly flips through to snap photos of the pages he needs. Hopefully it’ll be enough.

He hadn’t planned to borrow any books. Yet, here Dean is, photos of the optional textbook chapter in his phone and two other thick books nestled into the bend of an elbow, searching for the checkout desk on the third floor. Thankfully, it’s easy to find.

Dean’s looking down at his phone as he approaches, debating if he would have the time to return home and drop off his books. He absently places his student card on top of the books, the books on top of the counter, and gently nudges them away from himself.

“Checkout, please.”

The person at the desk gets to work without a word. Dean continues frowning at his phone, running numbers through his mind, until a  _ massive _ yawn catches him by surprise.

“Rough night?”

“Rough  _ week,” _ Dean quips easily, blinking the sudden moisture from his eyes.

He receives a low sympathetic hum in response. It takes a moment, but when his brain finally catches on —  _ wait, I know that voice _ — Dean whips his head up so fast his neck protests.


	43. ice cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [18.09.20]

The first time Castiel tries ice cream, he isn’t as surprised as Dean had hoped.

It’s a plain vanilla cone, ridiculously overpriced but wonderfully chilled — not that temperature really mattered to Castiel, but the aesthetic was surely appreciated — from the truck Dean had impulsively decided to make a detour to during lunch. He’d blindly shoved the cone out in Castiel’s direction while he plopped himself down on the wooden picnic table bench next to the vigilant angel, eyes resolutely fixated on the juicy burger Sam had ordered for him. Sam, already chowin’ down on his rabbit food, is thankfully too busy chewing to comment anything, although he  _ does _ give a strangled cough before ducking away from the table to hack up a lung. (Not literally, of course. Sam’s perfectly fine, only with a good chunk of lettuce in his windpipe.)

When Dean dares a quick glance, Castiel’s observing the creamy swirl of the ice cream with something close to suspicion in his blue eyes. Too keyed up for laughter, Dean pointedly gestures it at Castiel —  _ for you _ — and watches as those blue eyes widen slightly.

“Oh,” Castiel murmurs. Slowly, gingerly, he accepts the offering, closing his hand around the bottom of the cone while Dean lets it go. Their fingers brush, and Dean desperately pretends the added heat in his cheeks is from the summer weather. “Thank you, Dean.”

_ Hm, _ Dean grunts. It’s like he’d suddenly reverted back through just about all of evolution and landed in caveman times.  _ Real smooth, dude, real smooth. _

And precisely because Dean Winchester is pretty much as smooth as crunchy peanut butter, he’s just about holding his breath — burger forgotten in front of him — while Castiel takes his first, delicate nibble of ice cream. Because  _ of course _ Castiel, exalted angel of the Lord, is an ice cream biter. Of course he is.

Brow furrowing gently, Castiel tilts his head a few degrees to the right (towards Dean’s left shoulder — not that Dean’s keeping track or anything, okay) as he considers the taste. After a pause long enough to make Dean nervous, Castiel’s constipated concentration expression smooths out and he licks his lips.

“Yeah? You like that?”

Sam chokes on his smoothie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Full fic is [Vanilla Ice Cream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26570251)


	44. Dean [M]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [23.09.20]

_ There’s something intoxicating about this, _ Castiel thinks.

Perhaps it’s the way Dean’s constant emotional and mental walls are completely gone, obliterated by relentlessly building pleasure. Perhaps it’s the way Dean’s focused on Castiel —  _ only Castiel _ — as he whimpers and shudders, every muscle tense; or the way Dean’s clutching at Castiel’s shoulders and dragging blunt nails down his back with enough force to leave a pair of raised, red trails framing the dip of his spine, crude imitations of wings Castiel no longer has. Perhaps it’s the way Dean’s gasping choked little moans, his mouth slack and wet as he pleads,  _ Cas, Cas, _ like it’s the only word he knows, the only word he needs to know.

_ Not this. What’s intoxicating is Dean, _ Castiel thinks, and leans down to kiss him.


	45. pockets of an angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [23.09.20]

The pockets of the soaked trench coat Dean hauls from the reservoir aren’t empty.

For some reason he couldn’t dare to look too closely at, the knowledge of Castiel keeping things in his pockets twists Dean’s heart.  _ Like a human. _ But Castiel is —  _ was _ — an angel.  _ Look, Dean; look at what you’ve done. _

Slowly, carefully, he empties the heavier pocket onto the bench seat next to him. Several crumpled bills, a few packets of sugar, and what looks to be the mangled remains of something that could've possibly once been a receipt of some sort, glares almost accusingly up at Dean from the leather of Baby’s seat. For a long moment, he looks down at the little waterlogged pile, clenching his jaw so hard his teeth ache.

But there’s one more pocket, so Dean sniffs, scoots backward a little on the seat, and lifts the coat. Something round and silver bounces off Baby’s leather, threatening to tumble right off the seat; reflexively, Dean leans forward, slapping a hand down over the wayward thing. It’s cold under his palm, the edge bumpy and uneven.

A coin?

Dean lifts his hand.

It’s not a coin.

He stares, mind blank. He stares down at it until his eyes are too dry and he has to blink and it’s still there when he opens his eyes again.

Dean stares, because that’s his own ring — the same one he’d worn for years, back when he thought wendigos and werewolves and vengeful spirits were the worst things hiding in the dark, that he used to pop beer bottle caps until he’d chipped the sides so badly it almost hurt having the ring pressing into his skin each time he made a fist — gleaming softly on Baby’s seat next to his leg. He’d always thought it was lost, that he’d accidentally left it at a motel one night after taking it off.

Apparently not. What it’s doing in  _ Castiel’s _ coat pocket, however, is beyond Dean.

Thus, true to the Dean Winchester rationale, he doesn’t think about it again. When all the paper bills are extra wrinkly but dry, Dean replaces all the items back in their respective pockets, folds the trench coat, and locks it in Baby’s trunk.


	46. like what you see? [M]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [28.09.20]

“You can open your eyes,” Dean breathes, voice trembling minutely with nerves and anticipation.

Castiel, kneeling in silent compliance with his wrists bound at the small of his back by his own cerulean tie, pauses for the span of several heartbeats before complying. Slowly, leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world, he blinks up at Dean.

Blue eyes — alight with wordless, dark promise — travel appraisingly down the bare, exposed skin of Dean’s body. After what feels like a nerve-racking eternity for Dean, Castiel’s gaze finally descends on the pretty little thing with lace accents and a delicate bow hugging Dean’s every curve between his legs. He'd wanted to choose blue to match Castiel's eyes, but he figured black would also be appreciated in contrast to the pale skin of his thighs.

Sure enough, Castiel’s eyes dilate, his arms flexing as he gently tests his restraints. He looks like he wants to devour Dean whole; Dean’s arousal flares in response, heavy and heady and it leaves him breathless in its wake. It’s far too late to regret the sturdy knot Dean himself had placed around Castiel’s wrists — no matter how much he wants to feel those elegant fingers pressing into his skin — so instead, Dean lets his legs fall open around Castiel, leaning his weight back on his hands in an imitation of calm he doesn’t feel, and only just manages to keep his voice steady.

“Like what you see?”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth quirks upward, and without a word, he turns his head to sink his teeth into Dean’s thigh. Not enough to hurt, but definitely enough to have Dean yelping softly. It’s a reminder, a warning. Castiel blunts the sting with a warm, open mouthed kiss, lingering for a moment before he starts nipping and kissing up the length of Dean’s thigh, pausing to suck a blooming bruise over a tiny cluster of freckles.

Dean gasps, twisting his fingers into the comforter, and tosses his head back with a low groan when Castiel glances up, eyes dark and smirk wicked. “Cas, c’mon,  _ please.” _


	47. human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [30.09.20]

After wandering the bunker for several minutes, Dean finds Castiel dozing off at the lone table in the archives room, hidden behind neat shelves of old, slightly dusty texts. His fingers are peeking out from under the cuffs of a worn black hoodie — one Dean had offered from his own wardrobe, the only surviving hoodie Dean still owns — where his hands rest on the table in front of him, fingertips pushed up against the edge of a massive, ancient book of lore. Castiel’s eyes are closed, his shoulders slouching forward as his head dips low, closer and closer to his own hands.

It wouldn’t even hurt if Castiel accidentally headbutted his knuckles at such a short distance, only startle him awake at most, but Dean still finds himself silently jogging over. Without conscious thought, Dean’s left hand darts out to hover just above Castiel’s hands, right in time to catch Castiel’s nodding head.

For a moment, everything is still. Dean stands with his heart in his throat, Castiel’s forehead in his palm, and contemplates the likelihood of attaining invisibility. Nada, zilch,  _ humans never get the cool things. _

Then Castiel inhales sharply, sitting up ramrod straight and blinking wide, startled blue eyes open. Dean’s other hand, previously settled on Castiel’s shoulder, slips down to grip to his bicep.

Castiel frowns gently, his voice rasping lower than his usual gravelly rumble when he murmurs, “Dean?”

“Yeah. You, uh—” Dean clears his throat, absently pressing his fingers into the thick muscle of Castiel’s bicep just before reclaiming his hand. “What’re you doin’ in here?”

Castiel’s frown deepens. “Research,” he says, slowly, like he isn’t sure if Dean’s being purposefully obtuse or not, “for the case.”

Dean sighs. Well, not  _ quite, _ but it’s a close call.  _ “I can see that—” _ He cuts himself off, crossing his arms. “It can wait. You need” — Dean falters, his voice softening — “sleep.”

Pain flits through Castiel’s expression, quickly replaced by deliberate impassiveness, but Dean doesn’t miss the misery lingering in those blue eyes. Being reminded of his newfound humanity seems to hurt Castiel and Dean hurts with him, aches with the need to tuck a blanket around those shoulders and feed him all the food he could eat and show him that maybe, if he wants it, he could have a home here.

“C’mon.” Dean gently claps a hand to Castiel’s cheek as he tilts his head towards the door. It’s really more of a little pat, a fleeting brush of his fingertips against the stubble shadowing Castiel’s jaw. “Sleep ain’t bad; everybody’s gotta rest sometime.”  _ I didn’t make that bed for you to sleep in a _ chair, _ dammit. _

Castiel blinks. “...Alright.”


End file.
